The Letter
by captain noodle
Summary: Specs has some trouble with his love life, and sends a letter. All that can go wrong, does go wrong, and all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't fix the mess that our protagonist finds himself in. R & R, and I'll love you forever. :)
1. chapter 1

The Letter

Chapter 1 

Adjusting his trademark glasses, Specs McPherson sat in a booth at Tibby's, accompanied only by his kid sister, Dizzy. He was bent over a tattered notebook, his eyes fixed upon it. He was chewing nervously on the end of his pencil. Dizzy was very uninterested at what he was doing, and craned her neck around the room, looking for Les Jacobs, a fellow newsie, and current object of her affections. 

            "How's this sound, Dizz, 'I lie awake at night thinking of how you've changed my life, and how pathetic my existence is without you.' That sound good?" Specs asked expectantly. 

            "Well, if you want to sound like a desperate shmuck, it's great!" she replied with mock exuberance. 

            Specs sneered and hit her cap over her eyes. She pushed it back up almost instantly, and smiled. She loved her brother more than he'd ever realize. He was the only family she had left in the world, but when he tried to write love letters, she'd deny ever being related to him.

            Specs went back to his composition, thoroughly discouraged at his sister's lack of sympathy. It was merely yesterday that his girl, Tara, had broken things off with him. When she broke it to him, he was devastated beyond words. He'd sat there, hands holding the sides of his head, while she explained that what was going on between them was not working for her. Later that day, he saw her walking hand-in-hand with a newsie he wasn't familiar with.

            Writing Tara a love letter was his final and desperate attempt at winning her back, and Specs would ask anyone in view for his or her opinion. Even David kept clear of him, and he usually gave advice to anyone who'd listen to him. Specs drove the other newsies crazy, reading the lines of hackneyed prose he'd written. Dizzy suffered the most, as she was his sister, and had certain obligations as a sibling. 

            She didn't understand how after only one day, he was already a brooding mess of a person. She heard from Jack that he hadn't slept last night; instead, sitting on the fire escape, pen and paper in hand. He'd kept the boys up all night, banging his head against the metal bars, and wailing, "Why me, Tara? Why me?"

            If his sleepless night gained him anything, he didn't show it. He'd only become determined to win her back, and decided that writing a love letter was the only way it was possible. He didn't sell papers that morning, just sat solemnly in his bed, writing. He left only to meet Dizzy at Tibby's for lunch, as he'd promised. 

            "Ya know El, she was horrible to you. Made ya take her out, even when you were strapped fer cash. Made you go outa yer way to sell with her, and she wasn't even that pretty," Dizzy offered hopefully.

            "How DARE you talk about my girl like that. I don't talk about Les like that," Specs snapped back.

            "Elliot James McPherson, get it through yer thick skull. She left you for someone else! She doesn't like you anymore; she used you, and got rid of you. Life goes on, so pick yer bum up off the floor, and MOVE ON," Dizzy shouted, attracting the attention of the entire restaurant. Blushing, she sunk in her seat, as Les spotted her, and sunk down in the seat next to her.

            "Who're we hidin' from, Dizz?" Les asked cheerfully.

            "Ev'ryone," she replied sulkily.

            Les inexpertly slipped a "comforting" arm around Dizzy, causing her to turn an unsightly scarlet color. Specs looked up from his notepad, and snickered. Dizzy sat up indignantly and sneered, "'Least I got someone."

            Specs frowned and left the booth, seeking solitude in another corner of the room. "Portentous little–" he began, but was interrupted by Fiver, who had had about enough of his attitude.

            "Leave her be, she's got bigger fish to fry, McPherson," she said, gesturing to the booth where Dizzy was now giving Les a black eye. As it turns out, he'd gotten a little fresh, and Dizzy was none too happy. All the restaurant's patrons had a good laugh, until Jack, who just happened to walk in Tibby's, saved poor Les from Dizzy's "fists of fury". 

            "Les, I thought I taught ya ta treat goils betta den dat, and Dizzy, dat wasn't very lady-like," he scolded both of them.

            "Yeah, well he started it," she grumbled.

            After savin Les' face, he headed straight for Fiver and Specs. "Fivah, Race's lookin' foah ya at da lodgin' house, said somethin' about pokah," he said. "An' I'd kinda like ta talk ta Specs, man ta man, ya know."

            Fiver gave Jack a knowing wink, and headed out to meet Racetrack. Jack sat in the seat Fiver just vacated, and rubbed his tired eyes. "Specs, pal, heard Tara, uh, let ya go. An' usually, I'd letcha deal wit it by yerself, but dis is affectin' da whole house. I know she just broke up witcha yestaday, an' ya seem ta be takin' it real hard, but ya need ta get over her. Yer torturin' yerself. An' it's takin' a toll on da rest of us. Ya can't keep all a' us up at night, howlin' 'bout a goil. I don't say dis often, but sometimes goils ain't half da trouble dey're worth," Jack explained sympathetically. 

            "That what you wanted to tell me? That girls cause too much trouble for us? I know that, but I love her, Jack, I _love_ her. And I know that deep down she loves me too. She's just afraid, Jack. Afraid of committing, she's just plain scared, Jack. I never told her I loved her," he said, his brow furrowed in agony.

            "If I heard you talking like that, I'd be scared too…" Jack muttered under his breath, than added, "Well, she's moved on, Specs. Ya desiove bettah," before Specs could ask what he'd said.

            "I know she loves me. I just know it," he said, trying to convince Jack nearly as much as he was trying to convince himself. Tara loved him. Right?

            "I didn't wanna have ta say dis, Specs, but desperate times call fa desperate measures. Tara was sneakin' round on ya. Yer too good fa dat," Jack said, sighing. He saw the hurt look in Specs' eyes, and his chest tightened. 

            "No… No, it can't be true," he said, shaking his head. He'd suspected Tara was being unfaithful, but he never confronted her, because he was too afraid he'd lose her. _Fat lot of good that did_, he thought to himself.

            "I wouldn't a' said it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," he said, hailing a waiter. "Two sarsaparillas, please. Thanks." 

            "You must have seen wrong. She wouldn't… Couldn't… She did. She did! Oh God, she did. When I was sick, right? When I needed her the most. She said, she said she couldn't risk getting sick. That, that seeing me sick would hurt her, and, and I said ok. I let her walk all over me, Jack. I let her cheat on me, Jack. I let her," he said with tears in his eyes, which refused to let fall. He still loved her, despite the fact she took advantage of his good nature.

            "Specs, yer bein' too hard on yourself. You didn't let her do nothin' she wasn't gonna do anyway. An' ya can't blame yaself fa bein' sick," Jack insisted. 

            Specs looked at him, and stubbornly replied, "I'll get her back. This letter, Jack, this letter'll do it for me. She always loved my poetry, and, and this is better than anything else, and, she'll love it, and me," he said wistfully.

            "Specs, I'm tryin' ta help ya. Ya need ta get ova' her. I know a great goil ova in Brooklyn, she's just yoah type, I know it," said Jack hopefully, mentally forming a list of girls that Specs might go for.

            "No. I'm going to win her back. I can. I will. I'm nearly done. Read it over, please, Jack, I'd really like your opinion," Specs said.

            "I ain't much with woids, Specs, an' I dunno how much help I'd be," he answered reluctantly.

            "Jack, you got a heart, just like anyone else. Please, be a friend, and just read it," Specs pleaded.

            Jack nodded silently, took the notepad Specs was pushing towards him and read;

My love,

            I feel incomplete without you in my life. We've had our differences, but I feel that having those problems bring us closer to each other. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew we were meant to be. I couldn't sleep last night. All I could do was think about how much my life has changed since I met you. You bring out the best in me, and I hope I do the same for you. These last few months have been the happiest of my life. Being with you helps me forget the impoverished conditions in which I live. With you, I can be myself, and I don't need to hide my emotions, or "improve the truth." When I'm with you, the truth is all I need. You are my inspiration, my muse. Without you, there is nothing for me to live for. I wake up, each morning, looking forward to seeing you, holding you, listening to you. Please, meet me at Pier 13 tomorrow in Brooklyn, if you have anything at all to say to me. I love you. I always have, and I always will.

            Jack looked up slowly. Tara had really gotten under Specs' skin, like an infectious disease. His words were beautiful, but he strongly doubted that they would win Tara back. "Looks like all ya need ta do is sign it," he said quietly. He knew there would be no talking Specs out of this. "But what'll ya do if she don't show?" he asked.

            "I have to take that chance. She's worth a whole day's wait on the Brooklyn docks. Anyway, I should go down there anyway, I've been meaning to visit Smoke," he said with optimism. "When you've got nothing else in the world, you've still got hope," he added, cracking a smile. He signed the letter with his untidy signature, and folded it neatly in half.

            Jack half-heartedly smiled at him, and said, "Best a' luck to ya, but I got some business ta attend to in Queens. See ya back at da house." With that, he downed the rest of his sarsaparilla, which had arrived halfway through Specs' letter, and threw some change on the table to cover the bill. Specs sat, staring at the letter until Dizzy approached him.

            "El. Elliot," she said shaking him, "we should get back to the House." She was very concerned about her brother. She'd never seen him like this. He'd always been very sensible and straight-laced, and to see him as a brooding, Poe-like figure was very unsettling.

            "Yeah, yeah, Danielle, ok," he said, not looking up. He was very distracted, as the prospect of putting his heart on his sleeve was very unnerving. Shaking his head, as if it would rid him of his troubling thoughts, he stood up, tucked his notepad into his coat, and took Dizzy's hand. She pulled him through the near-empty restaurant and down the street to the Manhattan Lodging House they called home.


	2. chapter 2

Chapter 2 

            "Hit me," Race muttered.

            "You sure?" Mush replied.

            "Yeah, I know what I'm doin', hit me," he repeated.

            "All right, but don't be mad if it ain't da right card," Mush said, flipping the card. "Ok, fellahs, show 'em," he said, revealing his hand. 18, not too bad.

            Race grimaced and showing his cards said, "I bust."

            Jack smirked slyly, "Blackjack boys, read 'em an weep. Bettah not take tomorra off."

            "Dat's it, I'm gonna try my luck wit craps," Race said, throwing his cards grumpily at Mush, and walking over to the corner where Bumlets was running the craps game.

            Specs was sitting on his bunk, unwilling to participate in the nights entertainment. He'd found a lively young messenger from Brooklyn, and asked him to deliver the letter to Tara's apartment. He gave the boy a nickel, to ensure the letter a speedy delivery. All he could do now was wait. Wait and hope. His face had gone very pale, and all night the other newsies were asking him if he was ok. 

            Some guys from Brooklyn had found their way to poker night at the Manhattan house, and Smoke, a good friend of Specs, had tagged along. They strode into the room with a commanding presence, led by their infamous leader, Spot Conlon. 

            Smoke scanned the room, looking for his forlorn friend. Word traveled fast in the newsie community, and he'd heard about his heartbreak about an hour after it had happened. Spotting him leering at everyone in the room, he rushed over. "Hey Elliot, how's it going?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

            Specs blinked confusedly, as he wasn't really used to hearing his real name said by anyone else but Dizzy. "Oh, Scott. Heya," he said rather disconsolately. He had a gut feeling that Smoke had come here to try and cheer him up.

            "So, I guess the poker hasn't started yet? Had any luck with at craps or blackjack?" he questioned, skirting the obvious purpose of his visit.

            "Haven't played. Just been sitting here, torturing myself about Tara. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it," he sneered bitterly.

            "I admit, I'm here 'cause Runt told me you gave him a letter to give to her," replied Smoke, looking at the floor.

            "Who's Runt?"

            "The kid you gave the letter to."

            "I figured as much, but how do you know him?"

            "Hm, well, I do kinda live in Brooklyn, and he's the self-proclaimed 'Little Terrror of the Brooklyn Lodging House' not to mention Skip O'Grady's brother," Smoke said, rolling his eyes. Usually Specs was more sensible than this. 

            "Right. Stupid question. So, are you going to tell me to forget about her? To stop trying to win her back?" Specs said, agitated.

            "Yeah. You really are being daft about this. The girl cheated on you, stomped on your heart, and had a new guy within the hour, who, I heard from a reliable source, had been seen with her three weeks ago, necking in the back of Irving Hall. You're better off without her, and there's a ton of worthy girls out there. Why, in Brooklyn there's this sweet girl, you'd love her…" he said, staring up at the ceiling dreamily.

            "I'll tell you what I've told everyone else. I love her, and I know she still loves me. She's just afraid of commitment. I know my letter'll win her back, and if it doesn't, I'll learn to move on," he said, shaking his head.

            "Well, just take your mind off it for now. Runt already delivered the letter, and it's out of your hands. Let's get in on some Blackjack, c'mon, whaddya say," Smoke said, grinning and brushing his ash-colored hair out of his face. 

            Specs frowned, then sighed. "You're always talking me in to something or other, aren't you? Like in secondary school, when you convinced me that… well, better not dredge up old memories now," he replied, nearly beaming. He and Smoke went way back. They'd grown up together in Boston, and somehow reunited after a fateful fire took the lives of both their parents.  

            Smoke, grinning all too mischievously, elbowed Specs hard in the ribs as soon as he got up, and Specs responded by decking Smoke soundly across the jaw. The other newsies stared up from their gambling in shock, but Specs and Smoke just laughed, each rubbing their injuries. The newsies that were looking at them went back to playing their games, and the two boys joined the nearest poker game.

            "Five card stud, one eyed jacks wild, boys," Spill said, dealing them in. She looked up at both of them, and her eyes lingered upon Smoke's hair. He was used to this, and just sighed.

            "No, I don't know why it's like this, yes, it's always been this way, and yes, I did try washing it," he said right as Spill was about to say something.

            "Oh, nah, I wasn't gonna ask dat. I was just gonna tell ya dat deahs some fuzz in ya hair," said Spill between giggles.

            Smoke ran his hands through his hair a few times as his cheeks turned slightly pink. "It's just, well, usually people comment about my hair," he said bashfully. As long as he could remember, his hair had been a very dark grey color. 

            "Undastandable," Spill replied, dealing the cards.

            Dizzy meandered her way through the room, half looking for her brother, and half looking for Les. She caught a glimpse of Specs and Smoke at Spill's table, and hurried over. It'd been a while since she last saw Smoke, and he was like another brother to her. "Scott! Heya, how's it goin'?" she greeted, hugging him fiercely.

            "Hey kiddo, they have you talking like a newsie already?" he asked, grinning.

            She scrunched up her nose and replied, "I can be sophisticated should I choose to be, but I feel more comfortable tawkin' newsie tawk." Dizzy grinned broadly, and socked Smoke soundly in the stomach.

            "Oof, you're getting too good at that, I shouldn't have taught you to fight," Smoke said, smirking.

            "Hey now, I was the one that taught her to fight," Specs corrected.

            "Oh yeah?" Smoke challenged.

            "Yeah," Specs replied, raising an eyebrow.

            "Ask her. Danielle, who taught you how to fight?" Smoke asked.

            "Neither of ya. Jack an' Les taught me," she said, smirking.

            The boys were exasperated, and shooed her away. "Go find Les," Specs muttered, mulling over his poker hand. "Gimme two," he said.

            "Two for da guy with da glasses an' hat," Spill said, giving Specs his two requested cards. "Any for ya, Smoke?"

            "Just one, please," he said, sighing, tossing his discard, and picking up his newly dealt one.

            Everyone at the table was wearing a poker face, when finally Spill said, "I call," and showed her cards; a pair of tens and a pair of threes.

            Specs smiled and held out his hand, a full house, winning him this round, and a couple of pennies. Smoke had nothing, and Spill frowned slightly. Ruse joined their table, taking the empty seat next to Specs.

            "Hoid about Tara. Dat's da breaks, huh?" she said sensitively. 

            "Yeah, I guess," he muttered in response. Although lady luck seemed to be favoring him for a change, he couldn't shake the impending feeling of despair. A voice in his head kept pestering him, telling him that Tara wouldn't show, and that he'd be left sitting alone on the docks tomorrow. 

            "I'm real sawry, I know she meant a lot to ya," Ruse said, draping a slender arm over Specs' slumped shoulders.

            Immediately Specs drew away from her. He gave her an apologetic look, collected his winnings, and hastily left the table. Smoke glanced ruefully at Specs, but turned back to the poker game he would win. He hesitantly stuffed his spoils into his pockets, and tailed Specs out of the bunkroom, up the stairs and to the roof.

            "She's just a girl," he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

            "But she was my girl."

            "You've had others, how'd you get over them?"

            "She was my first."

            "You're joking!"

            "I'm not."

            "You used to be popular with the ladies back home, if my memory serves."

            "Times change. Think any of the girls 'round here know about my life back in Boston? Other than that's where Danielle and I are from."

            "You don't tell people either?"

            "No, I try to remain relatively secretive about that, and I tell Dizzy to be as vague as she can about Boston. Luckily, she doesn't remember much."

            "One of the brighter points of amneisia."

            "Yeah, but she fells horrible that she has no memories of our parents, or much of anything before we came to New York."

            "I had no idea it was that bad."

            "It was. Can we stop talking about it?"

            "Sure. And hey, about Tara, don't worry about her. I happen to know of at least three girls who'd jump at the chance to even catch your eye."

            "Don't. Just don't. If I can't be with Tara, I don't want anyone else."

            "All right, I won't bring it up again. You're sure? There's this one girl-"

            Specs looked mournfully on his friend, his glance cutting Smoke's words short. "What about you? Have you had any success with girls?"

            "No. I think it's the hair. My roguish good looks are somewhat offset by the gray tint my hair has."

            "And here I always thought it was your never-ending pomposity and all around ornery behavior."

            "I'm charming when I need to be."

            "And _only_ when you need to. You should try being agreeable some time. Girls really love the sensitive man routine. Even more so when it's not a routine."

            "Hey, I'm not compromising for a girl. When I meet the right one, she'll take me with all my faults-"

            "-And she'll try to change them."

            "You have no faith left in girls, do you?"

            "I do, I have faith that Tara will come back to me."

            "Hate ta hear dat, 'cause I seen  'er messin' wit dat guy," Ruse said, breaking the temporary silence that had fallen over the rooftop. 

            "How long have you been up here?" Smoke inquired, scowling.

            "I folla'd ya up heah, so I'se hoid it awl," she said, her voice hushed.

            "Why did you follow us, and how did you know she was fooling around with another guy?" Specs said solemnly.

            Her head dropped, and she took her hat off of her head. She said nothing, until Smoke walked over and nudged her with his elbow. "Live in the same building. Walls ain't so thick, an it wasn't like dey was keepin' it secret," she whispered

            "That saves me a trip to Brooklyn, then," Specs sighed. "I guess girls just aren't worth all this heartache, or trouble, for that matter."

            "Oh, don't give all 'a us da kiss off, jus' cause one lousy goil broke ya hawt. If all 'a us goils did dat, you'se guys would be up shit's creek," Ruse scolded.

            "How'm I supposed to trust a girl named Ruse?"

            Ruse blushed, "'S just a name. Folks don't usually know what it means."

            "Well I do. What led you to chose that as your moniker?" he asked.

            "Tawk less hoity-toity, if ya please," she said, slightly annoyed.

            "Nickname," Smoke supplied.

            "T'anks. It ain't my nickname. My muddah named me it. She told me what it meant 'afore she passed on. Said eva' since I w's born I was a tricky little demon. Snuck around, real secretive like. Say, what's you'se guys' real names, I toldja mine," Ruse said.

             "Why does it matter?" Smoke asked defensively.

            "Well, I guess it don't really. Can't a goil be curious?" she questioned rhetorically.

            "Curiosity killed the cat, and more than enough nosy people," Specs sneered.

            "You gonna hold a grudge against all us goils fa what Tara did?" she shot back angrily.

            "Yes," he huffed, and nodded to the door.

            Ruse stomped to the door, and could be heard from the stairwell, cursing the male gender, but particularly, Specs. Smoke stared worriedly at his emotionally exhausted friend. He'd never seen this frantic side of Specs. He was most often a good-natured person who never had an unkind word for anyone. "Elliot, don't let her have this kind of power over you," he said supportively.

            "Just go back to Brooklyn, Scott. When I want your advice, I'll ask for it," he sneered. "I only want to be left alone," he added in a softer tone.

            "Don't do anything stupid," Smoke began.

            "Go," Specs cut in.

            Smoke looked over his shoulder sadly. It killed him to see his best friend this way, as he was sure it killed Specs himself. He slunk down the stairs and out the front door, nodding a downcast goodbye to Kloppman behind the front desk before heading back to Brooklyn on his own, as Specs sat on the roof, and eventually fell asleep.


	3. chapter 3

1 Chapter 3  
  
"Is 'e dead?" Runt asked, staring at Specs' prostrate body.  
  
"'Course not, silly, he's just sleepin'!" Dizzy replied, kicking Specs hard in the ribs.  
  
Specs groaned and grabbed his side, rubbing it where Dizzy had kicked him. "What'd you do that for?" he muttered sleepily. Sleeping on the roof in the cold never gets one a goodnight's rest.  
  
"Ya fell asleep up heah," Runt stated, "And we's come up heah ta wake ya up. So wake up!"  
  
"Ok, ok, ok. You two are one lousy excuse for a rooster, you know that?" he snorted.  
  
"What's dat s'posedta mean?" Runt inquired.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Specs grumbled. He ruffled his hair until it stood nearly on end, and forced himself off the ground. Runt clambered onto Specs' shoulders, causing the older boy to let out a stifled groan. "You puttin' on pounds, kiddo?"  
  
"I shoah hope so! It ain't easy bein' so gall durn liddle," Runt chirped.  
  
"Hey, shouldn't you be in Brooklyn?" Specs said suddenly, as Runt snatched his hat and put it on his own head.  
  
"Nah, Skip's here," he said, as the hat fell down over his eyes.  
  
Specs sighed. "Yeah, but does she know you're here?" he asked, setting Runt on the ground, and taking his hat back. From the guilty look on Runt's face, he could tell that she didn't know.  
  
Runt bit his lip and shuffled his feet. "No. But I'll go tell 'er now," he muttered, and scampered downstairs.  
  
"Tell me I wasn't that much trouble, El," Dizzy said, breaking her former silence.  
  
"I could, but I'd be lying."  
  
"Oh come on. No way I caused as much trouble as the 'Little Terror of Brooklyn,' there." She cocked an eyebrow at her brother.  
  
"Ok, so you weren't quite as bad. But you also weren't a little boy growing up in Brooklyn under the supervision of Spot Conlon."  
  
Dizzy rolled her eyes at Specs. He laughed suspiciously, and threw her over his shoulder.  
  
"Hey!" she squealed in protest. "So Tara's forgotten?" she asked. It was obviously the last thing Specs wanted to be asked about.  
  
Setting Dizzy back on the ground, Specs grunted in response. "Don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Don't tell me you're still heading out to the docks," she said, a hint of warning in her voice.  
  
"Shut your face. You wouldn't understand. You're too young," Specs spat in a gruff tone he rarely used.  
  
Offended by his remark, Dizzy huffed, and said a terse, "It's no wonder she left you, Elliot McPherson. You're a horrible pain," before exiting hastily.  
  
"Wait, Dani…" Specs called after her halfheartedly. Her words stung like salt in a cut, but he hadn't meant to upset her so much. It wasn't like him to speak harshly to Danielle, and conversely, it wasn't like her to snap at him.  
  
Mulling over these thoughts, Specs sat on the very edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the side, elbows resting on his knees, and hands entwined in his hair.  
  
"DON'T JUMP!" a voice shouted from the roof access door.  
  
Specs nearly jumped out of his skin at that, scarcely holding on to the mortar beneath him. He looked back. Racetrack. If there was one thing he could do without right now, it was the antics of that particular Italian. His good humor wasn't conducive to brooding. Sighing loudly, Specs said dully, "Wasn't going to."  
  
"Just makin' shoa. Didn't take ya for a jumper, anyway. Too easy," he said.  
  
Specs rolled his eyes. "That's some sense of humor, Race. Mock my pain, will you?" he sighed, throwing his legs back on solid ground, and facing his offender.  
  
Race scowled. "Just tryin' ta cheer ya up, ya bum. Don't hafta bite my head off," he said, slightly hurt. He was, after all, just trying to make Specs feel better. Laughter's the best medicine, isn't it? Or was the appropriate turn of phrase "time heals all wounds"? At any rate, it was too complicated for Race to want to deal with. There were papes to be sold, and horses to be bet upon. He turned on his heels, and went back into the lodging house.  
  
Specs sighed heavily. He hadn't really meant to scare Race away. He didn't even really want to be alone anymore. And maybe, if Tara showed up, he wouldn't have to be. He sprung to his feet, showered hurriedly, and set off for the Brooklyn docks.  
  
*******  
  
Runt ambled around the lodging house, half looking for his sister, Skip, and half looking for an opportunity to cause some trouble. He wandered into the girl's washroom, and was immediately pelted by bars of soap and thrown out by his collar by one of the older girls.  
  
"What?" he said innocently. "I w's just lookin' fer Skip." He giggled as he descended the stairs to the main sitting room. Skip was sitting on a ratty old couch, having an animated discussion with Dodger about baseball.  
  
"Baseball's noffin' compared te' rugby," she said, pounding her fist on the table.  
  
"Baseball takes skill, finesse. As I understand it, rugby is just burly, sweaty men, fighting over an oblong ball," he retorted.  
  
"Baseball's fer little girls," Skip snorted. She looked up, and saw Runt. "What in the name a God's green earth are you doin' here? Thought I toldja ter go back with Smoke an' th' rest?"  
  
"Ya did. I din't want to," he said. "I like it here."  
  
Skip rolled her eyes. "Ye like it here b'cause there's new thing's fer ya to get in trouble fer. Come on, I'll be takin' ye home now. An' don' think yer gettin' off the hook on this baseball business, Dodger," she said, her Irish brogue carrying a slightly threatening tone. Dodger sighed, and slightly grimaced.  
  
Runt snorted a quick laugh. As he did so, a folded piece of paper fell from his shirt pocket. Skip noticed it, and picked it up. "What's this then?" she asked, holding the paper in his face.  
  
Runt's jaw dropped. It was Specs' letter. He'd been too wrapped up in the fact that someone gave him an important task that he simply forgot to carry it out. 'Now y' know why they dunna trust you,' he chided himself.  
  
He looked up helplessly at Skip. Skip read his face like she read a book. "The letter. Oh faith an' begora, tell me tha' t'isn't Specs' letter," she pleaded in a hushed voice.  
  
Runt chewed on his lower lip. He couldn't bring himself to actually say the words. He nodded.  
  
Skip's face fell. Her face paled, making her freckles stand out twice as much as usual. Her voice dropped to less than a whisper. "Ye know wha' ye must do. Go. Find Tara now. Give her tha' letter," she said, crouching so her face was level with his.  
  
Runt took the letter from her hands, and sprinted out the door. Skip tried to regain some composure, and made a hasty exit a few moments later. Dodger eyed them both strangely, and decided that he would find out what had the O'Gradys in such a tizzy.  
  
*******  
  
Plunk.  
  
Plunk.  
  
Plunk.  
  
It seemed utterly fitting to Specs that he should be tossing rocks into the river, as they sunk like his spirits with the passing minutes. Half an hour he had been sitting on Pier 13. Waiting. Watching. Hoping.  
  
Not a soul that passed even vaguely resembled Tara. Tara with her golden, flowing hair, that curled in delicious tendrils as it lay perfectly on her shoulders. Her immaculate, pale skin, without blemish or scar. Her soothing blue pools of eyes he could gaze into for hours. Her full, pouting lips, once eager for the touch of his. Her slight figure, from her slender legs to her round, pert bre-  
  
"Elliot!"  
  
He looked around angrily at the culprit who tore him from the flight of his imagination. "Scott," he said, drolly.  
  
Smoke ran to the edge of the dock, where Specs was seated, trying to catch his breath. "El. Don't. Do. This." Huff, huff, huff. "You." Huff. "Deserve better." Huff, huff.  
  
"If you must lecture me, don't lecture me one word at a time, Scott," Specs deadpanned.  
  
"Someone hasn't lost his bitter sense of humor, has he?" Smoke retorted.  
  
"Spare me your 'clever' comments," Specs snapped.  
  
"Look what she's done to you, Elliot. She's turned you into a brooding, cranky prat that no one wants to be around. If you aren't careful, you might burn some important bridges," he warned.  
  
"How would you know how it feels? You don't. You can't. I loved her, Scott. Love. Can you say you've loved anyone besides yourself?" Specs growled, dangerously serious.  
  
"If you think what you had with Tara was love, than you've got an even more skewed definition of love than I do. You're like a brother to me, and Danielle, a sister. What I feel for you is a kind of love. It's true. It's not sullied with lies, selfishness or deceit, and if you can't see that, then we've no business together."  
  
"You can't possibly be giving me an ultimatum. I will not choose between my best friend and true love."  
  
"If you'd only come to your senses, you'd see that what you shared with Tara was not true love, but true infatuation. She merely tired of it before you did. It was fun while it lasted. Now pack up your emotional baggage, and get on with your life, as she's obviously already done." He put his hand on Specs' shoulder, who was no longer facing him.  
  
A single tear ran down Specs' cheek to his chin, where it hung for a moment, until dropping into the river. He removed his glasses, and wiped his reddening eyes with the corner of his shirt. He turned around to face Smoke. 


End file.
